These Broken Hands
by WinterSunshine
Summary: Make money, fill the empty hole. That's Bella's game as an exotic dancer at the Sassy Apple. On her own since she ran away from home at 18, the last thing she expects is to see anyone from her past. That is, until Bella's old lab partner stumbles into her club and is made privy to all her dirty little secrets. AH, OOC, Canon pairings. Rated M for a reason.
1. I'm a sad girl, I'm a bad girl

**SUMMARY: Make money, fill the empty hole. That's Bella's game as an exotic dancer at the Sassy Apple. On her own since she ran away from home at 18, the last thing she expects is to see anyone from her past. That is, Bella's old lab partner stumbles into her club and is made privy to all her dirty little secrets.**

 **ALSO, I'm gonna insert a** **TRIGGER WARNING** **here. This story deals with intense themes of drug abuse/addiction, depression, prostitution, sexual assault, etc. So please, please tread with caution. I know, as someone who's had person encounters with certain natures of these things, that I would appreciate a warning. So, here is your warning. Nothing but love to anyone who may need to take a step back from this story for any of these reasons. If you need access to support, here is the number for the Distress Center (24 hour crisis line) - Canada: 403-266-4357 | US: 1-877-968-8454**

 **(Some of you may remember this story from way, way back. I've done a lot more character/plot development, have made some changes to the storyline, and have decided to just do-over the entire story as a whole. Hope you enjoy the upgrade!)**

 **xoxo , wintersunshine**

…

Lola meows at me from where I lean over my vanity table, snorting cocaine.

"Go away," I say, sliding her across the bathroom floor with my foot, away from me, "It's my birthday and I have the night off. I can do four lines if I want to."

Finishing, I fall back onto the vanity stool and stare into my own reflection as the high hits. I close my eyes, reveling in it, the euphoria, the take-me-away feeling. I don't feel a thing but good, good, good.

 _ _Happy birthday,__ _ _Bella__ _ _.__

 _ _.__

"Bambi! You're on in five." James pokes his head into the dressing room where I'm finishing up my makeup. God, my face feels heavy today.

I look over at him. "Got it." I ignore the way his eyes rake down my body, where I'm leaning in toward the mirror. He glances down the hall and then steps into the room, shutting the door behind him. This I can't ignore.

Every muscle in my body stiffens as he approaches.

"I have to say," I hear him murmur and now I see him step up behind me, in the mirror. "You look mighty sexy tonight, Bambi."

I straighten before his crotch makes 'accidental' contact with my ass and turn to face him. The black two piece I wear-made to be revealing-suddenly makes me feel exposed, in a bad way.

"Thank you, James. Now, if you'll excuse-" His hands go to my hips as I try to move past him, and my breath spikes. "James…"

"Bambi," he whispers back, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

"James, I have to-" I begin to struggle and his fingers dig in deeper.

" _ _Stop__ _ _-__ moving," he demands, low in his throat, threatening, and I do. "Look at me." I look up at him, towering over me. "Do I make you feel scared?" 

"No," I say, frozen with panic. 

His fingers go under my chin, tilt my face up so that I'm forced to look into his eyes. "It's not every night you get a compliment from your manager," he murmurs.

"I know that."

"So when I pay you one, you accept it. Got it?"

"Got it," I'm whispering, and I hate how shaky my voice sounds. "Thank you, James."It takes every effort of mine not to pull away when he reaches up to stroke my face.

"You're very welcome…"

He keeps me here for far too long. I know if I move, I'll regret it, but I'm going to miss my mark-

"Bambi?" There's a knock on the door, and abruptly James is stepping back, away from me. Alice pokes her head in and says, "Aren't you up in two? Jazz is almost finished." Her eyes flash across the room to James, where he's now standing by the closet. I adjust my top. 

"Yeah," I say to her, avoiding the way she takes the two of us in, piecing together the closed door… 

__Please,__ _ _Alice__ _ _, don't get the wrong picture here…  
__

_"_ _I_ _ _'__ m coming." I slip my right foot back into my shoe, from where it slipped out when I stumbled under James's dominance-not having been strapped in yet-and stride across the room toward my friend. She looks up at me, something in her cat-like eyes letting me know she doesn't expect what I've feared, and I take in a breath as I squeeze past her, out the door, into the hallway. 

My heels are muffled by the white carpet as I stride toward the stage door and take my mark. Jazz heads off the stage, under the glow of the neon green lights-the lights that make the name of our club so famous. 

Vic steps out onto the stage now, in a tight, curve-accentuating black dress. She comments on Jazz's performance, all the performances before then. 

"And now, for the performance you've all been waiting for," she murmurs, playing to the energy in Sassy Apple's audience. I feel the high come over me, in anticipation of the performance, crowding out James's advances from before. I batt my hair away from my face as Vic announces me and the lights go black. 

The excited rumble from the male audience drowns out the clack of my heels as I make my way across the dark stage to the pole. I grip the vertical bar and wait for the cue. As the white lights flare, nearly blinding, so the music starts up, and I begin my dance. I move my body with the beat of the music, making sure my profile is tilted just right.

As I strut around the pole, the music picks up its beat. The men start to cheer as I hook my leg around the pole and swing, showing off my ass for the audience, bending and twisting, tossing my long hair. 

It's easy, once you get yourself into it, to just climb up on that pole and throw your body out there. I do it now as I wrap my thighs around the pole, climbing up to where I need to be. The men holler as I extend into an archer. This is the part where I want to close my eyes and just lose myself in the music. But I don't. I stay focused, alert, poised. Allegra box splits, rotate around the pole, down into brass bridge, sit up, grab the pole, drop into floor splits. Do some floor work, twist those legs, show off that ass, arch the back sitting up, back on the pole. Small pirouette, sit, slinky, iron x. Transition to sexy flexy, to closed inside leg hang. Back down to floor splits, on the hands and knees, stick that ass out, flick the hair, move to the music. Use the pole as support off the ground, move into crouch, stand with legs straight, head down, stick that ass out. Flip hair up as the music ends. 

The crowd explodes, and I shoot a small smile their way and move off stage. 

Easy as that.

.

I won't deny it-I'm pretty fucked up. I like to think of it as something I was born with-dealt with all of my life-instead of something I brought upon myself. I had bad luck all throughout my childhood. It's not something I dwell on. Or, at least, I try not to.

I'm aware of it now, as I do a line at the end of the vanity table after my performance. I ignore the looks the girls pass me as I wipe underneath my nose. 

__Screw you__ , I want to shout, _ _You all do the same thing. Stop staring at me like I'm some sort of freak show.__

I angle my shoulders away, stare into the mirror, fluff my hair back up. I try to ignore the way my hands shake. So maybe I shouldn't have taken that second hit. But after my encounter with James I'm on edge, and I can't help but give in to the voice that croons inside my head. 

__Just one more line, Bells, it won't hurt ya…  
__

_"_ Bambi, you in here?" I hear Vic shout from the door. I lean out from the vanity table, sticking out a hand so she sees me. "You've got a client in room two!" she informs me without looking up, and then she's gone. I nod, grab the matching leather garter belt from beside my makeup bag, slipping it up snugly around my thigh. 

"That was fast," Alice comments, sidling up beside me. She pulls her makeup bag toward her, rifling through it for her liquid liner no doubt. 

I shrug. "What can I say?" I comment, shooting myself a sexy pout in the mirror,

"They like what I do." 

With that I stride past all the rest of the girls, back into the green-light-washed hallway, hooking a right instead of a left, headed toward the private rooms. I never think too much about the client I'm about to dance for. Usually they're middle-aged, balding, sweaty and sporting a decent ponch. It's a Saturday night so I could be looking at tons of different options: businessman looking for some action to spice up his night (good tips), a bachelor about to be married (decent), one of the regulars (whom I pretend is new every time I see them), or a variety of partyers who got a little too intoxicated both by alcohol and the sight of a near-naked woman on the stage that they were willing to fork over five hundred bucks for an hour alone with me. 

I stop outside the door. I spot Em situated against the wall a couple yards down. He looks over at me, nods. I nod back. Emmett McCarthy is like the big brother I never had growing up. He's always looking out for me. He's been working in the kitchen since he was fourteen or something and never left. He mostly bounces now, but occasionally tends the bar. I feel safe either way. I know he'll look after me. 

With that in mind, I slip into the room and find the typical middle-aged man, red-faced, with a glass of champagne in his hand, lounging on the semi-circular leather couch.

The walls in here are white, as well as the carpet. The light shines blue, casting a ghostly pall over both my skin and his. On a platform in the middle of the room stands a pole, just gleaming as it waits for me. 

"Good evening," I say to him, putting on my best exotic dancer voice and smile as I stride over to him. I ease myself into the cool leather cushions next to him, taking up a position that looks both innocent and irresistible at the same time. "Welcome to Sassy Apple. I'm pleased you came to visit me tonight. What's your name?" 

"Bill," the man in front of me croaks, taking a nervous sip of his champagne, though he tries to hide it. 

__New at this, Bill?  
__

_"_ Are you familiar with our private shows here at Sassy Apple, Bill?" I ask him, edging a heel onto the cliff of the couch. 

"Pretty familiar," he confirms, nodding. 

"Good. Then I don't have to remind you that we are being monitored and you are not to touch me unless I invite it, correct?" 

He nods again. 

There's a quiet moment, and then he says, "You were amazing out there." 

I grin, trying to keep my seductive persona up. "Thank you, Bill. I always try my best." 

"I bet you do," he agrees, finally warming up. 

"Would you like me to dance for you again, Bill? I'd be happy to do that…" 

I ignore the way his eyes roam down my body, drinking me in like a man who's been trapped in the dessert without water for days. I glance at his left hand. No ring. Either he isn't married, or he's hiding the evidence and looking for an outlet. I don't care either way. 

"It's your hour," I continue, "I'm happy to remove any or all of my clothing for you," I add. 

"I bet you have beautiful tits, Bambi," he tells me, not even taking his eyes off of my chest. 

I laugh, playing along as I stand, my fingers going to the front clasp on the bikini top. "Would you like to see them, Bill?" My tone is teasing, light. 

He leans forward, slipping a twenty into my belt. "That would be lovely, Bambi," he says. 

"Thank you, Bill," I say, and pop the clasp on the top, tossing it onto the floor at my feet. I let him ogle for a few seconds. Recognition lights in his eyes when I inch closer and he slips another twenty into my belt. I smile. "A dance?" 

He nods, clearing his throat. "A dance," he confirms. 

I move over to the pole, finding a rhythm, ignoring the shake in my hands, closing my eyes to zone into the high coursing through my veins. I dance for this man, earning over two hundred in tips by the end of our hour. When he leaves, I slip back into my top, fall back onto the couch and tilt my head back to stare up at the mirrored ceiling. I see a disgusting woman staring back at me, the innocence in her big brown eyes so fake it makes me want to puke.


	2. crazy little woman in a one man show

****BPOV****

 ** **.****

Back in the dressing room, I shove the wad of cash I made into my bag. Already sitting there, bound by an elastic, sits the earnings I made on stage. T _ _hanks, Vic. At least one of my managers isn't a total sleaze bag.__

I figure I'll count it when I get home. I am just about alone in the room, which is very much a rarity. There's a girl sitting way at the other end, painting her nails. She didn't even glance up when I walked in. Maybe she's amped, too.

I wiggle into my jeans and pull a shirt on over my top. Switch the heels for a pair of flats, grab my leather jacket and my bag, and I'm out of here. I'm heading toward the door when Alice steps inside, her short spiked black hair damp. Right, she was supposed to do some sort of water act tonight. I'm just about to head past her so that I can make it down the road to catch the RTC on time. She holds up a tiny hand.

"Alice, I really don't have the time to-"

With surprising force she grips my arm, stopping me in my tracks when I make a move to squeeze past her. "What the hell was going on in here with James?" she whispers now. Her eyes blaze into mine demandingly, and just as I'm about to defend myself- _ _It wasn't me, it was him__ -she says, "Has he been pulling that shit for long?"

I sigh, running my fingers through my hair. I need to go home and scrub all the hairspray out of it. Then I need to take a couple Vicoden and sleep.

"I'm gonna kick him in the balls if he tries to fuck with you again, do you hear me?"

Alice may be five foot nothing-Hell, I don't even know how she landed a job as a stripper; don't you have to be tall for that?-but she's got an attitude that could only have come from the pits of Hades. She makes up for her height and size in all her fire and spunk. The bouncers are rarely coming to her rescue in time. Shit, she takes all the glory out of it. By the time they get there, she's got the guy in a death-lock. If she could spit venom, she would.

Truth be told, a small part of me feels honored that she's willing to protect me so much. At the same time, though, it pisses me off. What, she thinks I can't fend for myself? Now, I yank my arm from her grasp. "I can handle myself," I hiss. Before she can reply, I shift around her, out the door, and into the night.

.

I live in a closet-sized apartment, only a ten minute bus ride from the club. Pretty convenient, if you ask me. Upon inserting my key into the door, I find that Jessica Stanley, my roommate, is home early. I open the door quietly, doing my best not to be heard or noticed. It's a rarity that she gets home so early on Fridays.

The front entryway is dark, the sliding door at the back of the living room shut, and the curtains swept tight. The TV is off, the kitchen empty-though the florescent light is left humming. Off to the right-where her bedroom is located-I don't hear even the droning of her TV. This must mean she's asleep.

 _ _Really,__ _ _Jess__ _ _? Leaving this shit-hole apartment unlocked while you're not awake to defend yourself? That's just stupid.__ __I'd have to give her shit in the morning.

In the meantime, I slide my feet out of my shoes and cross to my bedroom where I grab a sleep shirt, a pair of simple cotton underwear-sexy, I know-and a pair of wool socks. The heating sucks in this apartment. I cross back to the bathroom and ease the door shut behind me.

For a moment, I'm confronted by the girl in the mirror. Her hair looks perfect, and so does her face, but underneath it all she's small, vulnerable and helpless. No matter how far I run, no matter how many different places I hide, or how many times I flood my veins with drugs to numb it out, I can't escape her and the truth I see in her eyes. I can't run from it, though God fucking knows I'm trying.

I turn on the shower, as hot as it will go, and strip. I climb in and stand under the spray for a good amount of time. We get surprisingly good water pressure in this place. I scrub the vile club-smell from my hair, wash the makeup off my face, the grime from my body. When I climb out my skin is raw from the heat and my vigor in cleaning it, but I like it. I like the tingling in my skin, the buzzing behind my ears.

This time, as I get dressed, I ignore my reflection in the mirror. I cross back over to my room, successful in not waking Jess, abandon my clothes in the laundry hamper, and go to my bedside drawer. Lola trounces across my bed from where she's been napping and rubs her head up against me. I pet her absently as I pull open the drawer with one hand and dig through it. My hands have long ago stopped their shaking, but other things, images, are flooding my mind, and I need to sleep so that they can disappear.

Finally, I find the pill bottle. I press my palm to the lid and twist. It pops off, clattering to the floor. I dump three pills into my hand, dry-swallow them and pick up the lid. Once the bottle is back in the drawer, I slip underneath the covers and wait for sleep, black and plunging, to make __me__ __disappear.

 ** **.****

"Alright, Sassy Apple," Vic says from where she stands on the stage in tight leather pants and a glimmering halter top that shows off the entirety of her back, "You all know what night it is!" The crowd hoots and hollers as Def Leppard's "Pour Some Sugar On Me" starts up. "Make some noise for the girls on the bar!" She has to holler over the noise.

This is something we do every Saturday night. James and Victoria both said it would pull in more customers, and it has, but it doesn't mean that it makes it any more bearable. Still, here I stand, on top of the bar, clad in a pair of ass-baring leather shorts and a glitzy bikini top, swaying my body to the beat of the music along with six other girls.

Immediately I'm making eye contact with a young looking guy. He points at me, and I play along, laughing and pointing at him. I grab his hand, playful, put on a little show. I turn my body away from him, crouching down to show off my ass. I glance over my shoulder at him, winking as I wiggle my ass back up. He gestures for me to come closer, and I get down on my knees, moving in to shove my breasts in his face. At the same time I feel him shove a couple bills-dollar, twenty, fifty?-down my top, I feel another pair of hands slip a couple more into the band of my shorts. I pay attention only to the guy in front of me, leaning in and grasping his face, pretending to pucker up and then pull away, laughing.

"Thank you," I shout in his ear, though I doubt he hears me as I get back up. I strut around a little, slap another girl's ass.

Vic's shouting into the microphone, keeping us focused. I can hear the song building up to the bridge and I turn toward the inside of the bar, bending down to retrieve two cups of water, making sure to stick my ass out as I do. As Joe Elliot moves into the chorus, I dump the contents of the two cups I've grabbed down my front, writhing, tossing my hair, wriggling my body as I do so. Cheers swell around us as we get wet. I splash a girl in the ass, pour some water down my back, wagging my hips sharply back and forth to the down beat as I do so.

On my knees, sticking my hips out, pouring water down my shorts. Bills go into my stockings, my shorts, my top when I lean over, shaking my tits for the guys. I grin and sing along, act like I'm having the time of my life when all I want to do is get the fuck out of here.

I move over to the other side of the bar, hoping to get more tips over there, dropping my ass to the crowd, flirting, holding their hands, splashing water out over them. Kicking, spinning, rocking my body as hard as I can. Dancing with the other girls, licking water off them, letting them roam their tongues over me, letting their hands slap my ass, use my body for the entertainment of others.

We're all breathing hard, and soaked as the song comes to an end and Vic riles up their attention again, directing them back to the main stage so that we can make our way to the back. As I jump down off the bar, the guy I've been getting the majority of my tips from approaches me and I grin.

"Hey," I shout over the din of the music, "You got more for me?"

"Yeah, baby," he shouts as I turn, rotating my hips so that my ass just grazes the front of his pants.

I toss my soaked hair in his face and say, "Put your hands down there, big boy."

He does, groping a greedy feel of my ass as he deposits his tips there. When he gets too grabby, I turn.

"Thanks!" I yell, giving him another wink and a smile and then I'm skipping back through the crowd, in search of a towel.

In the change room, Lulu says, "What the hell were you doing out there, Bambi?"

I squeeze past her, ignoring the flighty, too-fast pumping of my heart as I snatch a towel from the pile and wrap it around myself. "Oh, shove it, Lu," I say, composed, cool, "You just wish you were so brave."

"Yeah," she retorts, rolling her eyes, "Because I just love having some random filthy guy's hands all over my ass."

Honestly? I'd hit her. But I'm too fucking high to care. I pull the tips from my shorts, top, and stockings with vibrating hands, counting at least two hundred and fifty bucks. I smirk. I haven't even been here for half an hour. I have the feeling that tonight is going to be a good night.

I shut off the disgust, the regret, and I focus on the invincible feeling in my gut, weightless like a helium balloon. It could lift me into the rafters. I slide into my next outfit-an emerald bandeau-style top with side-cut panties. The short sleeves around the middle part of my biceps will act as good tip-holders for the next performance. I blow out my hair. Upon walking into the club, it had been straight, but now, wet and having dried without any product, it's brought out the natural wave to it. At the base of my ribs, slight ringlets curl. I almost thank my father for the natural beauty of my hair, but then second guess it. Instead I admire my body, the way the v in my bottoms shows off the muscled definition in my core.

My next set is in three-I'd better get out there.

I step out into the hall and smack into the wall of muscle that is Emmett McCarthy's chest.

"What the fuck?" he explodes when he sees it's me and he grabs my arm, stopping me from going anywhere.

"Em, let me go," I say, tugging at his hold, "I have a set in two."

"I have the right mind to handcuff you to my side for the rest of the night," he growls.

"Oo, handcuffs," I comment, "Kinky."

"Bells!" he huffs and I shoot him a dagger look.

" _ _Bambi__ ," I correct. I don't want anyone in the club knowing my real name. Alice and Emmett are enough.

"Seriously, Bambs," he continues, complying, seething, "What the hell was that? I saw that prick's hands down your pants. You want to get fired, do you?"

I sigh. "C'mon, Emmett. It was one grope, and I allowed it. It was all part of the act."

"It looked pretty slutty to me, actually," he says.

"Well, __news flash__!" I hiss, now ripping my arm from the manacle his huge hand makes, "Maybe I'm being fucking __paid__ __to be a goddamn _ _whore__!"


End file.
